No English
by MistyWing
Summary: oneshot. When GOOD RED AND JOLLY approached him he uttered "No English" to drive her away.


Disclaimer: CCS, not mine.

"**No English"**

**~MistyWing~**

Her eyes were a deep sea green and her hair was the color of autumn. She was like the other girls her age, yet she wasn't them. What made her stand out from the rest was an ambiguity to Syaoran Li.

The limp fried noodles tasted like saturated strings. Its sleek texture and blandness made it impossible to swallow without a pint of milk. A long string of that stuff was enough, yet he knew that it would be insufficient. Then, GOOD RED AND JOLLY approached him at his secluded table. She extended a hand to him, but he overlooked her completely without misplacing his polished cold exterior.

She started, "Ano, Syaoran-san… I believe we are in the same Sociology class. You sit behind me?"

It was the start of the lamest pick-up line overused by the admirers he used to scoff at.

He was pulling out of his chair when he grunted, "No English."

"I don't speak it well either, but…"

Syaoran threw her a glare. "No. English." And he trudged out of the cafeteria.

The bell was sounding. Someone had pulled the alarm and now all the students were swarming the halls to meet the exits. She followed him from behind. He knew because he passed her coming out of Ethics and sensed that she had noticed him and proceeded to tail him to that extent.

"Syaoran-san!"

He sped up as he crossed the campus yard, dodging a street pole that nearly hit him in the face, metal to nose. The girl caught up at a sprint. Because he hated the attention, Syaoran had to stop and wheel around to face her. It took almost all his self-constraint not to throw a fit. He tried another dark scowl on her and she only extended her hand to him in response. "Ah… Syaoran-san."

His eyes dug into the mines where the most beautiful emerald jewels in the world lie and he forgot the swelling menace he supposedly had for her and her kind.

"Wo shi Sakura. Wo xiang… (I am Sakura. I want…)" The girl paused as the verb she had learned a minute ago through a friend, laid motionless on her tongue. "I'm sorry," she finally said apologetically, "I'm afraid my Chinese is just as bad."

"No English," he said again, spinning on his heels to angle himself away from her. He sped off in a slanted direction and disappeared between the hoards moving about. It was quite obvious to a bystander Syaoran was avoiding her like the plague.

He did not normally jump to conclusions, but there was just something about GOOD RED AND JOLLY that made her a red mark in a sea of white. He had seen her so many times without seeing her to convince himself that beauty didn't mark her, even though she had plenty of that. There were a bunch of pretty girls who drew that kind of attention upon themselves, asking for it. They were all like queen bees with their aphrodisiac scents and fluttering lashes. Their power swirled about the male population mingling with the lust from these testosterone secretors. Apparently college in Japan was no different from high school in China. Hormones raged on both ends of a give and take war. He was the one man who stood apart from them and she was the one woman who stood apart from her genus.

"Ano, Syaoran-san," she whispered, head bent to his shoulder as she leaned in closer to his side where he was seated.

Syaoran nearly fell out of his chair in shock. She wrenched him out of his seat and could have thrown him across the room, by just whispering his name in such a soft tone that reminded him of the texture of the mellow rivers of his hometown. Sweet memories that only she could wash to shore with just the sound of her voice caused the warmth to spread in the pit of his empty stomach.

She fixed on him a troubled look. "I didn't mean to startle you, but…"

Syaoran spoke through gritted teeth and bunched up fists. "No English."

He proceeded to gather up his books and notes splayed across his desk area; his movements jerky, staunch, yet hasty.

She watched him go and asked with the use of her library tone, "I know, but what about your knapsack?" She held out the strap of his red bag for him to take. He snatched the bag from her and turned half way. She felt the heat of his rage through his rude actions.

She sighed, still not afraid to make eye contact with the fellow that seemed to show nothing but scorn towards her. "Also I want to…"

He was gone again before she could finish.

GOOD RED AND JOLLY couldn't be human. She was an inept psychopath bent on making his first year in college a hellish experience. Her sunshine smiles along with her polite mannerisms over his distinctly fiendish and wolf-like measures almost defied the last bit of his willpower. She was going to be the one reason that would drive him out of the only campus in the entire world that gave him no piece of mind or a bother. She was going to even make him climb up the bell tower and jump from its heights the moment it tolled noon. If getting away from her would change his wayward thinking, then yes, he would have no choice but to return home.

"Syaoran, we're holding a study session this Saturday. Can you come?"

"I don't have any plans that day. Normally, I study on weekends, too," he said.

Instincts rattled in alarm. He knew she was near and when he turned his head to the side in the slightest way, he found GOOD RED AND JOLLY looking directly at him. An expanse of hurt shown in her eyes as the eyebrows faded into the dusky shades of autumn. His eyes met hers and he knew it was time to come forward.

"I'm sorry I must have offended you earlier. I didn't mean any disrespect," she stammered. In the meantime her hands were going through the pockets of her pants and jacket.

Was this girl nuts? Why did she always apologize for every little thing even if it wasn't her fault? And why did she look so sweet, benign, and gentle, which was the polar opposite of him every time they talked? She was all that and yet, she could be evidently ashamed for no reason.

"You must have your reasons for not telling me the truth and I won't question you. I just wanted to return the pen you dropped in Sociology class." The familiar hand she extended, curled in a fist, held out his green pen to him.

He didn't say anything because he was having an epiphany. In his revelation he realized that in the short spurts of time they spent together, why she held her hand out to him. He also realized what she had to give him figuratively and physically. The truth was maybe these feelings were an answer to his wayward thoughts that he experienced in the moments when she did not speak to him. Then, when she turned away from him and after he physically retrieved the pen she had charitably returned to him, the thought struck him. He was stuck with her face and the images of her fluid gestures. Every gesture she gave him and every expression she wore on her visage for him was each a gem stone added to his collection of treasures.

Syaoran pressed his, recently favorite, green pen to his forehead and laughed at himself and what an idiot he had become through this experience.

* * *

I took out half the story because I wanted to make this one-shot an open ended one. The original story was a narrative. Syaoran was telling his teenage daughter the story of how he met her mother. I took out that bulk of the story and did a rewrite. "No English" came out of the factory like this and I don't think I want to change it again. You might think otherwise, so I want to hear your thoughts. Thank you!

MW.


End file.
